


Pretty When You...

by micehell



Category: Criminal Minds
Genre: Case related mention of rape, Drama, M/M, Show level violence, bullying (memory of)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2005-12-04
Updated: 2005-12-04
Packaged: 2017-11-12 02:17:50
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,487
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/485597
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/micehell/pseuds/micehell
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The silence continued; Gideon staring at Walsh, Walsh at Reid, and Reid keeping his head down, the feeling of dread making its way across his stomach as his role in this became apparent.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Pretty When You...

**Author's Note:**

> While the title is obviously a reference to a VAST song, this is in no way a songfic. ;)

Reid was looking at the data for what seemed like the 1000th time, hoping that this time he could mine some true information from it. He couldn't concentrate, though, because someone was watching him. It had started with that subtle itch, that brush across his nerves, that always let him know when people were staring. He was used to it, used to being the lead act in the freak show, and he'd just pretended not to notice. But the intensity grew, grating on him, until he had to look up.

It was Gideon, gazing at him intently, which, really, was Gideon's default setting, but it was a considering look, appraising, one Reid wasn't used to seeing at work. He looked around to make sure that no one was watching, but Morgan and Elle were still reviewing the last crime scene, and Hotch was liaising with the local law enforcement, coordinating the search they hoped to do. If Gideon succeeded.

A flash of movement caught the corner of his eye, and he flinched back, but it was only Gideon coming closer, his hand reaching out to loose Reid's hair from behind his right ear. The touch was clinical, an artist arranging his work, and Reid wasn't sure how he was supposed to react.

"Um, I thought you said that we couldn't do anything like this at work?"

But Gideon didn't answer, still considering variables that Reid couldn't see. He wasn't giving any signals, and it was making Reid nervous. He hated not knowing what was going on, hated missing social cues that other people seemed to get instinctively. It was why he'd started studying psychology in the first place, but all that study wasn't helping him now.

The unfamiliar brush of hair against his face didn't help his nerves, and he started to push it back behind his ear again, but Gideon grabbed his hand. "No. Leave it like that, and come with me."

The walk to the interrogation room was silent, as was the room itself. No one broke it as he and Gideon sat down across the table from the suspect.

Gideon was looking at Walsh, Walsh was looking at Reid, and Reid was looking at the file in front of him, even though he didn't need to. Edwin Walsh, 34, white. Approximately 6'1" and 240 pounds of what they were sure was a serial rapist/murderer. If they were right, he'd killed ten students already, all males, all between the ages of 18 and 24. He had an eleventh one - Eric Porter, just turned 19 years old, and living away from home for the first time - hidden somewhere. Perhaps dead already. Perhaps dying as they looked for some clue to where he was.

The silence continued; Gideon staring at Walsh, Walsh at Reid, and Reid keeping his head down, the feeling of dread making its way across his stomach as his role in this became apparent.

"You an FBI agent?"

Those were the first words that Walsh had spoken since they'd picked him up. Reid looked up involuntarily at the break in the silence, but he dropped his gaze again when he nodded.

"Sure are pretty to be an agent. Young, too."

"Federal equal opportunity laws would prevent my not being hired on either the basis of my appearance or my age." Reid considered. "Well, unless I was under the minimum age requirement. Which I'm not."

Walsh laughed, low and rough, but Gideon was still mute. Reid figured he would give him some kind of signal if he were screwing this up.

"Pretty thing like you wasn't meant for this kind of work. Only thing you should be doing is laying back and spreading them."

Even though he'd expected it, the comment made Reid flinch, which he took care to show. He just kept reading the file over and over again, making it look good.

"What's the matter? You don't like hearing that? Don't like someone talking about fucking you?"

Gideon leaned back in his chair and snorted, shaking his head mockingly, but he didn't say a thing.

Walsh's face reddened, his breathing quickened, both anger and arousal leaving their physiological marks. "What, you think I couldn't fuck pretty boy here? Oh, I could. I could fuck him hard. Make him moan. Make him scream. Maybe I will, too."

Reid was playing with his fingers now, a nervous tic, but he didn't try to hide it, keeping his hands in view on the table and his head down.

"Hey, I'm talking to you. You think you're too good for me or something, can't even look at me when I'm talking to you?"

Walsh slammed his hand against the table, a loud noise in the otherwise silent room. It made Reid jump, and he looked to Gideon to see what he should do. Gideon was still watching Walsh.

Who was smiling now, a sly look on his face. "Oh, I see how it is. This your daddy, then? He going to protect you from big old bad me? He'll keep you safe, huh? Sit you on his lap. Sits you on his dick, too, I bet."

Reid knew he was flushing, now, the red probably very visible. Part of it was the aggression in the room, which always made him flustered. Part of it was the language, which he knew shouldn't bother him, but always did anyway. But part of it was because there was an element of truth in what Walsh said, and Walsh knew it. The worst criminals were often the most perceptive. "That's..." but his voice trailed off as his very clever mind decided to chase itself in circles instead of providing a response.

But Walsh wasn't listening anyway. His anger was growing, and his hands were straining against the cuffs as he tried to express it. "You're just like the others. Always acting so prim and proper, but willing to take it up the ass all the same. But not for me, no. Always think they're too good for me. Too pretty, too refined for ugly, coarse old Eddie. Well, I showed them. I showed them good. I can show you too, little boy." Even with his hands restrained, Walsh tried to reach across the table to Reid, the chains clinking as he fought to touch.

It snapped Reid out of his thoughts, and he pulled back even as Gideon pushed Walsh down. There was force in the push, verging on too much, but not crossing over.

Gideon was talking now, coming into the play. "You showed them, did you? I don't think so. I don't think you had anything to show. Isn't that the problem? Isn't that why they wouldn't look twice at you? Because you weren't good enough. Because you couldn't satisfy them. Isn't that right?"

Walsh's face was purple with rage, spit flying as shook, screamed. "I did show them! Fucking little college kids, not a care in the world. Me, I had to drop out of school to support my mother, 'cause my father was too fucking stupid to do it. Too fucking lazy and mean. So I never got to go to college, but I still know more than those assholes ever will. Well, they don't think they're so smart now, do they. Don't think they're too good now. I showed them what was what, just like my father showed me. Just like my father showed me!"

His eyes were glittering with his triumph, over how he'd shown those boys. Gideon just pulled out his cell phone, dragging Reid behind him as he left the room.

There was barely a second in between Gideon dialing and Gideon talking. Someone had been waiting for the call. "Check the records, find his parent's old residence." There was a pause as someone, probably Hotch, said something on the other side. "No, that's where the mother lives now. Find out where they lived when the father was alive." Another pause. "Yeah, well we may not have the time."

He keyed the phone off, turned back to Reid. He started to say something, but stopped, reaching out to tuck the loose hair behind his ear again.

"That was intentional, I take it."

Gideon didn't pretend to misunderstand. "Yes."

Reid just nodded. It had worked. Hopefully. It was the only lead they had, anyway.

But even knowing it was necessary, Reid still felt awkward, out of sorts. It must have shown, because Gideon reached out to him again, letting his hand drop when Reid shied away.

"You said never here. It was your rule."

Gideon nodded. "Yes, I did." There was a pause, this time Gideon being the one to look down, away. "I'm sorry."

The apology wasn't for trying to touch him at work. Reid gave him a quick smile. "Okay."

He went back to his desk, prepared to keep looking through the files just in case Gideon's hunch didn't play out, but he could feel the eyes still looking at him. Waiting him out.

Reid could understand why Gideon was such a successful interviewer. The patience, the intensity, were like a compulsion, and he felt himself giving way. His voice was almost a whisper, but he knew Gideon could hear him, leaning on the desk behind him. "I didn't always dress like this. Wear my hair like this."

He spun his chair around, saw Gideon's puzzled look, like he didn't understand what Reid was saying, even though Reid knew he did. But Gideon always liked to hear things; thought things should be said and not just understood. "High IQ doesn't inherently mean pocket protectors, you know. I didn't always dress like such a stereotypical geek."

Gideon grinned. He still had the cell phone in his hand, ready, but his attention was on Reid now. "What, it wasn't always argyle socks and purple scarves?"

It was Reid's turn to look puzzled. "What's wrong with my purple scarf?"

"Never mind. So you didn't always dress like this. Are you more comfortable now?"

"I'm not sure that I could ever classify myself as truly being..." he trailed off, seeing the amusement on Gideon's face. "Yes, I'm more comfortable now." He thought for a moment, considering how much he wanted to explain. Needed to. "I was too skinny growing up-"

A snort interrupted him. "You're too skinny now."

Which he chose to ignore. "- too small, and, of course, much younger than those I went to school with. Even when I was in special programs, I was always the youngest there. It was a rare day when I got away without a new cut or bruise. But I was used to it."

Gideon's face had gone serious now, already extrapolating. "But that changed."

Reid grimaced, remembering. "Yes. At first, it was for the better, because I was in college then. Not that there was never any trouble there, but it was usually just ostracizing behaviors, shaming. I was used to that, too."

He saw Gideon's hand twitch, the aborted move towards comfort, but he continued without commenting on it. "When I was sixteen, I hit a growth spurt, which didn't help with the weight, but I also lost, well, I guess you could say my baby look. That's when the taunts started being less about geek and freak, and more about pretty boy."

Reid rubbed the long, thin scar on the palm of his left hand, a reminder. And a bad nervous habit. He made himself stop, continue. "That's when the physical abuse started again. It wasn't bad, or often, but there was this one kid - a junior called Junior, oddly enough. He'd lost his spot on the basketball team due to his grades, which in turn meant that he'd lost his scholarship. I guess he felt like he had nothing to lose. One night, when I'd been studying late, he and some friends trapped me behind the library. It was..." Reid tried to think of the exact term to describe what it was, but could only get out, "bad."

Gideon's hand twitched again, and this time he moved it to rest on Reid's shoulder. A casual coworker touch. If you didn't look too closely, didn't see how tight the grip was. "He didn't... you weren't...?"

It made Reid nervous, Gideon at a loss for words. Maybe the rules against office romance weren't made to be ignored. Of course, all of the team treated him like he was made of glass, so he guessed this reaction wasn't really out of the ordinary. "No. But I was never sure that they wouldn't have if they hadn't been interrupted first. As it was, I spent a couple of days in the hospital. It scared me."

"It scares me."

And he knew that Gideon had his fears, he'd seen the signs, but it always startled him to think of the man as anything less than perfectly in control. He liked it though, in an odd way; it made him feel less like a child, more like an equal.

"With all the bruising, no one called me pretty for a while after that. It felt... safer. But encouraging people to keep hitting me seemed a little extreme as a solution, so I decided on another form of camouflage. I stopped wearing t-shirts and jeans, and started wearing sweater vests and argyle socks. I slicked my hair down, back away from my forehead. I even tried wearing glasses for a while, but it didn't turn out to be necessary. The sweater vests were really very effective."

"Must be why I like them." Gideon's tone was joking, but his look wasn't. It was protracted, intense, dragging up and down Reid's body, lingering on the current sweater vest and the argyle socks. "But I can't show my true appreciation here."

And even with what had just happened, with the memory of what had happened before, Reid felt strongly disappointed that Gideon was choosing to follow his rule now. Maybe tonight. Maybe they'd have reason to celebrate. Maybe he would wear the sweater vest and socks and nothing else, and let Gideon show him just how much he liked them.

The phone rang, putting them back on the clock again, but it was just Morgan. Gideon filled him in, giving a rueful smile that he'd forgotten to do so before.

When he disconnected the call, Gideon turned back to Reid, smile fading, but still a little rueful. "What I did. I won't do that again."

Reid almost laughed at that. Profilers were the worst at figuring themselves out. "Unless it's needed." He understood Gideon, knew what drove him. He still had the picture.

Gideon was looking at other pictures now, pinned in groups across their white board. Smiling graduation photos next to scenes from an abattoir. Happy shots of friends hugging and families gathering, next to death, stark and alone.

He looked back at Reid, self-knowledge painted on his face. "Unless it's needed." 

/story


End file.
